No More Faerie Tales
by tiedwithblackribbon
Summary: Erik destroys all hope of Christine's white knight ever saving her again. ONE SHOT


It had been nearly two weeks since she had wed Erik in the opera's cellars.

The vows were spoken and rings placed upon trembling fingers. She had saved her true fiance with a damning promise of marriage...and now, as she sat in front of the fire, in her new home underground, with a book in her hand, she reflected silently on those horrible events.

Erik was seated to her right, in his large chair, sipping tea. Besides his black mask gleaming off the firelight, it was an image of normalcy; a wife and husband retired for the evening to their leisure. Christine curled tighter to her spot on the chaise lounge where warm, soft blankets rested upon her lap. Clutching onto her book she stared at the pages, unable to read a word. There were too many images filling her mind of that night...too many sounds...and to her horror they were unceasing and only building with intensity.

She blinked, closing the book gently and reaching for her tea. It had cooled since her last taste and it's bitter chill disappointed her taste buds.

"So? Did the prince save his fair maiden again tonight? Was she finally rescued from her dark tower and all is well in the kingdom again? You do know how I adore your faerie tales, Christine...please, do tell me tonight's happy ending." He set his tea cup down harder than necessary making an irritating grate against the glass coffee table that made her cringe.

She averted her eyes from him in silence, her focus upon the little teacup that had endured such pain and violence from his hands.

"Well?" He pushed, his voice angry, making her sapphire eyes widen and rise to meet his impatient gaze.

She inhaled a shaky breath and said, "I do not wish to argue with you, Erik. I think I shall goto bed." Her voice quivered with each syllable, but held firm. Erik huffed his annoyance and rose from his seat. Her eyes followed his cat like moves as he took large and loud strides to the mantle. He ran long, skeletal fingers over the smooth brass of the figurine's still perched there...lying dormant as biting reminders of the choice Christine had made. One grasshopper and one scorpion. They weren't real creatures...but they still posed a very real threat and seemed frighteningly alive.

Her muscles were tense and ready for her to rise to retreat to her bedroom but she could not, sinking back against the cushion, as her body and mind accustomed to prepare for his wrath.

"I forbid you to read any more of that...that ridiculous fiction!" His voice strained and he turned to look over at her, raging eyes behind the mask burning into her soul. "Hand it to me, Christine. I'll have no more of this puerile fiction in our home. Faerie tales are for little girls...and you...you are a wife now. Now, give me the book!"

"What? No. I love to read. You know that." She stammered, her strength dwindling.

"Do as I say. I shall not have you filling your pretty head with such poetic nonsense any longer."

She looked up at him with such sadness, tears threatening her dark lashes...yet she obeyed dutifully, gently handing him the book. He snatched it from her grasp and she watched, in tear-filled horror, as he flipped the pages with sneers of disgust, finally stepping over to the fire, tossing it into the glowing embers which quickly engulfed the thin papers and fed upon it greedily.

"Erik!" She cried out with a gasp, rising from her seat finally and stepping over to the hearth, mere inches from the flames. "No..." She raised a hand as if she were going to pluck the burning pages from the fire and instead drew back and looked up at Erik with disdain.

"It is fiction, Christine! In reality the pretty queen does not get everything she desires. And princes upon gallant, white horses...well, even they can fall."

Tears left her lashes, sliding silent to her trembling lips. She closed her eyes, letting remaining tears escape. She did not brush them away. His cold, lifeless hands did that for her.

Her eyes snapped open at his cold touch and she tried to step back and away, but those hands caught her by her reddened cheeks and held her gently.

She whimpered her protest, "Please...don't."

"Don't what, Christine? Touch my wife? You vowed your faithfulness to me. Me! Not your ignorant stories nor the promise of being rescued by your knight in shining armor. Shall I treat you as the princess you envy in those burnt pages? I can lock you away in your own dark tower if you so choose. You are bound to me by law, and by your abhorrent God." His hands slid from her tear-stained face and smoothed down her throat and over her collarbone, resting on narrow shoulders. She whimpered again and tried to move out of his grasp but he only held tight to her upper arms.

"Do you know how your masochistic presence torments and abuses me? I could truly be the monster in your books and treat you as a prisoner. But, alas...I have not! I have barely touched you! Cease making a simple caress into a vile transgression, Christine! Must you dub every one of my touches a sin? Although _any_ touch would be welcomed by _him,_ would it not?" He pinched her tighter and she whimpered in defeat and relaxed in his hold.

"Look at me!" He shouted and her eyes forced upward to meet his masked gaze. "_I_ am your husband. It has been two long, agonizing weeks, Christine...accept me as your spouse...and accept yourself for the choice that you made." He let go of her so abrupt that she swayed on her feet falling to her knees, her eyes catching the last glimpse of her beloved novel, watching as white knights upon the printed page burned alive.

"Erik..." She whispered, her voice so full of hurt. A full sob escaping her throat.

"No. No, I do not need your pity nor your tears. They mean nothing!" He snapped, turning from her. The sight broke his heart and angered him simultaneously.

"What do you want of me?" She cried out, tears flooding her cheeks now as she stared up at the straight, hard lines of his back.

He turned to face her with such rage that she was too consumed with fear to even scream. With a growl he grasped her wrists and pulled her up off the floor and against him. She fought with a modicum of strength and when it was too much to bare she sagged in his hold and continued to cry.

"You are mine to possess. Do not be so vain to think such human desires are all I want and require. I crave your love, Christine. I want your love. Love me! Love me as you loved your young man!"

"I cannot!" She cried against his hard chest, trying her damnedest to hit him but his grip on her wrists were too tight.

"Shall I force it of you then? As I forced this farce of a marriage upon you?"

"You cannot force love! My love...my heart...those are thing's you will never possess nor control!"

A demonic growl left his misshapen lips and he threw her backwards to land on the chaise lounge and she gasped, expecting pain. He was going to kill her, she knew it! She hid protectively in her folded arms, afraid to see his plan of action take place.

His sigh hit her ears and it was as unbearable as it was beautiful, his voice laced with hurt as he whispered, "You really think I would harm you, child? After all that we've endured already...you think me coward enough to force a hand to you?"

Her sob echoed the black curtained walls, "Please...I cannot bare your anger...I want to be a good wife to you. God, help me I do! Just please...please don't be angry."

Her voice was the voice of a child, a little girl frightened of the dark. He slid to his knees in front of her, collecting her in his gentle embrace, for the first time holding her close without restraint and without violence having the upper hand. He felt her tremors against him, and though it pained him to see her so upset...the feel of her against him was incredible and he delighted in it no matter the circumstance. One of his hands wandered up her back to the curls that draped across it, caressing through silken tresses. He could feel her little fingers twisting in his jacket and pinching fabric.

"Shhh, my darling..." He whispered into her ear, delighting again when she shivered. "I forget my temper and I let my tongue run rampant. Forgive me, my dear, dear wife."

He felt her body's sobs increase, her muscles tense and he let her succumb to her emotions after two weeks of silence.

"I'll be a good wife, Erik...I promise." Her little whimpers hit his ears and it burned him inside and out. She was so young and still much a child. He only held her tighter in his arms.

"You _are _my good wife, Christine..."

"I...I'll let you touch me...I'll do anything you ask...I-"

He began to hum a melody in her ear, his angel persona working to his advantage as it silenced and calmed her. Instantly she relaxed in his hold and he relished the feel of her stammering pulse dull down into a gentle thud. If he had to become angel again to win her love then he would. Her dark angel had saved her again...and in time she would forget about her knight in shining armor.


End file.
